Before He Wakes

Will we ever have enough time?

Creating a morning routine—of any solid sort—has found itself more difficult lately. Whether that is due to growth spurts in our charactered, hilariously mischievous toddler who has just learned how to take the metaphorical and physical steps to walk on his own, or due to a lack of air conditioning in our bedroom, leading us to all sleep together in the room with said growth-spurting, confidently gibberish-talking toddler.

That being said, I know I will look back and miss, wish for even, to have an evening to sleep and be woken to him hitting and pulling my hair at 3 AM again… someday I will wish for that again. I’ve heard too many wishful and reminiscent people tell me that to be too naive about it myself. Every time he wakes up, however, I do wish for the nights that we were not sleeping in a room that included a crib (as much as I love and am obsessed with his crib, it’s just so beautiful), and a room that had my bed, my comforter, and air conditioning again. (I am also acknowledging how some people just do not or can not live with air conditioning—now, year-round, you name it—and that it is a privilege to have to begin with—I will not live naive to that).

When trying to find and stabilize a routine in the morning that serves me, us, the family, the one thing that keeps taking me away from it is time.

Time to make a thoughtful breakfast every morning—everyone says breakfast is the most important meal, right?

Time to get a head start on the chores for the house before the mental motivation runs out with the clock—lots of people, I’m sure, do chores in the evening; if I have waited that long, they won’t be getting done.

Time to keep relationships going with friends, near and far—communication via phone either has to be limited to nap time or through voice texts while driving, or not to confuse my toddler about why I’m talking to or hitting a black screen. Otherwise, trying to find the time to meet in person…a luxury.

Time to run errands—I just saw a post online from a dad that was doing a day with the kids, and he mentioned, “Moms, I get the ‘need’ for errands now. We’re all just trying to make it to bedtime, huh?” Yes, but I enjoy the errands, truly, and there is always one to run.

Time to find something to eat for lunch—for us both now, and chicken nuggets cannot continue to be a default.

Time to find a meal to cook for dinner…and then to cook it—how many recipes do I have saved or written down, and they are just waiting for the energy to be brought to life???

Whoa, how is it already his bedtime?

Time to spend with my husband/best friend—but we’re so tired from each of our days. When will we have the energy, the space, the time?

Time to work on house projects—will they ever end??? The bathroom, the deck, the second bedroom, the yard, the garage, the flooring, the mosquito-infested boat on the side, the canoe out back that we need to sell?

That is usually how the day goes in my mind…where did the time go? Who took it? Who/what did I give it all to?

OH! And I didn’t ever find time to read, or to write, or to work on that long project that I have all the ideas for, but just can never seem to make something come of it whenever I DO have energy to do something about it.

And, I only have one kid right now. How am I supposed to do this with more than one, one day? That seems quite literally impossible, even though everyone has said: “Your capacity grows.”

Notice the spiral.

The consistent, stringy, frail but persistent spiral.

Like that of some sea animal that I’m sure must exist (there are some weird things in the waters), and I know not the name of or anything about, yet I am SURE that it is out there: a spiraling, glowing, eel worm tentacle-type being. Something that, when it’s there, right in front of you, it fades in and out into the abyss of thought, the literal dark web of a mind, until it glows so bright it’s undeniable, unignorable, or once the dark is the thing removed situationally, and therefore the possibility of being next to this being is removed as well.

It must exist.

And if not in sea creature, then in the rainforest under a giant raining leaf, holding the sunshine from reaching the undergrowth so all that is left are the white crawly bugs and small flying insects, all too small to name right now (or maybe just since I do not like crawling things—my confident toddler seems not to care about that, lucky me, one day I will enjoy his lack of fear).

Last month, we traveled up north to Minnesota to visit family and to celebrate my sister running her first marathon. During the first half of our trip, we spent time with family at a cabin on a lake where the water stilled with the greetings of the sun and with all of my favorite colors put into one view.

Naturally, when away from home, all routines go out the door, and you just end up saying yes.

Yes to more naps…or no naps.
Yes to one more cast to catch that bass.
Yes to another snack.
Yes to ice cream.
Yes to a late, late bedtime.
Yes to an early morning, sneaking out of the room while the boys sleep.
Yes to pulling a chair to the edge of the water with a notebook and a favorite pen,

and trying to write when it feels like I have nothing to say.

Before He Wakes

I never get this time anymore, to watch the sky give up the moving clouds to the jealous water, lily pads, and weeds sleeping away while waves rock to sleep under them. Only in this morning time will the sky release his showful, proudful duties of movement. She gives just enough to catch and to keep you, letting your eyelashes shield the early sun, so you can keep her, too, in your look, because she will have to give up this place and time soon enough. She has other duties to keep now.

And while listening to the loon’s wolfish howl, I wondered if I could sit here just a little bit longer, at the foot of this Minnesota lake; I’m not ready for the duties again quite yet.

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I’m sharing this as it was written, first draft insider.

And while rereading it as I wrote this post, I couldn’t help but wonder who “she” was.

The me that I was watching from another me?
The lake?

I cannot for the life of me remember who “she” was intended to be, who “she” is.
What a captivating thing, to read your own words and wonder what in the world made me think to write this in that moment?

Maybe I still wanted more time
even when I had the time.

So, when does the time ever feel like enough?

Or has my view of time gone to the point of needing to be reoriented again?

I’ve spent three weeks trying to write this post during shortened nap times. And while reading a few things online that helped me to stay focused, I came across this poem of Wendell Berry (naturally) that was published in 1962 in Poetry Magazine.

Be Still in Haste

How quietly I
begin again

from this moment
looking at the
clock, I start over

so much time has
passed, and is equaled
by whatever
split-second is present

from this
moment this moment
is the first

While reading his simple string of words that connect the complexity of time, I wondered where he could have written this at. Perhaps his writing cabin on his farm, “camp”—

Photo by James Baker Hall

a place that I’d love to have my own of some day.

And I wondered to myself, out of his published poems on the significance—or in some cases, the insignificance—of time, this one had stuck with me, and why?

A reminder to stay present,

no matter the time I wish I could stop or take a mean hold of. Or the time I wish I could stretch and lengthen.

*Pause, a crying boy is calling for me.

Alright, I have time again, maybe.

Fitting, isn’t it, that I was called away when writing about staying present—staying focused on the current moment, not wishing away or wishing for more time?

And how exactly does someone stay “present”, “in the moment”, and “steadied”?

I believe one can do this by grounding all parts of the mind (and body, but I will save the woo-woo for now). That feeling we get when we walk through a forest with no rush to leave, that’s it. That feeling when we’re knee-deep in a conversation with a friend about how we’re feeling, no distractions skewing us, that’s it. That feeling of putting the phone down to play with your too-quickly growing child and getting to hear their great belly laugh again, that’s it. That feeling of the exhale of a sky-filled sunset after a busy day, that’s it. That feeling of getting actually to do your hobby and you make something you’re proud of, that’s it.

That feeling when we take our human-sized step back and realize that life will keep on going well past our bodies, and always has been. We cannot stop time. But we can stop ourselves long enough to see the present moment in time, and to stay there—wherever it travels to.

And maybe that is just enough.

Maybe that is where our time becomes enough.

Where it has the time to breathe itself.

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What I’m Reading:

I am one quick to screenshot the books that others recommend—there is something warm about knowing someone that already read a book and was willing to share their thoughts on it that just makes me feel like I can trust the book. Here is what I’ve been reading lately…let me know yours!

1. Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott

   I just started this last week and am loving the simple tasks and practicality she brings to the writing life. Reading this slowly, chapter by chapter, really trying to implement as I read and learn. I’m not one to be quick with writing exercises, and somehow hers seem fun to try.

2. Hold Still by Sally Mann

   Having just finished her newest book, Art Work, a couple of weeks ago, I immediately ordered this one with a gift card I had been saving, and so far, I love it. It’s always interesting to read about the early lives of artists and watch, in their own words, what happened and how they got to where they were/are…and how they view it, too. Her story has what every good story has: scandal, murder, money troubles, theft, and all the intriguing parts of a good plot.

3. The Timbered Choir by Wendell Berry

   Part of his Sabbath Poems collection, this one is challenging me in different forms of poetry. I’m noticing new things about how to structure poems, learning new words, and experimenting myself as I read this one bit by holy bit.

Until next time,
Madeline